a thousand suns rise
by Pens Paper Pencils
Summary: Drabbles on a variety of subjects.
1. the ocean

I.

Waves crashed against the slick black rocks, right below the sheer cliff. The sea was gray, gray like my eyes and Mum's eyes. The clouds, also, were gray, so that I could hardly tell where sky ended and water began. The horizon was blurry enough without the clouds in my eyes.

My bare legs dangled precariously over the edge of the cliff, and tears as salty as the foamy waves still dripped down my cheeks. Cissa would say it's my own fault for loving a mudblood.

Bella would say "Crucio!"

I still couldn't believe I'd been disowned. All the time I'd spent with Ted, the idea of being burnt off the Black family tapestry was like a nightmare you have before waking up; something vaguely scary, but ephemeral and unreal. But the unthinkable had happened, and here I was, sitting on a cliff and crying in my nightgown.

The ocean beneath me somehow seemed like a good end.. I'd just need to slide over the edge and dive, all my troubles washed away along with my life. After all, love couldn't be real if it brought me such pain.

II.

I turned from the cliff, back towards the waves, only to spot a familiar face. "Ted?" I asked, a smile creeping over my face.

Love _was_ real.

III.

Night had fallen and I could see the stars I was named for rising over the water. The nightly land breeze tossed my hair and his. Our hands were entwined, and the sea was calm. A perpetual grin had settled on both of our faces.

"And that there's Merlin's Wand," I said, pointing at one of the constellations. We B-L-A-C-Ks (I couldn't yet use my surname) had been taught the stars as children. Ted frowned.

"I learned it was the Big Dipper," he replied, still with the cute frown.

"Nothing's the same," I sighed, watching as a sudden wave crashed over the sand, water nearly reaching our feet before subsiding.

IV.

I was alone on the boardwalk, gray skies above me and wild water near the edge of the beach. The ocean was churning like a butter churn, churning like my mind.

I couldn't believe they were gone.


	2. music

They scream, and he hears an orchestra. She grins like a wolf, baring her teeth. He knows that grin. It's the one on his face, too.

"You want more?" Her laugh sounds utterly mental.

The little girl whimpers, and the man in the gray suit clutches her tighter. He manages to speak.

"P-please, p-please!"

Bellatrix cuts him off with another Crucio. The screams start again, and Amycus has his music.

He adds in his own curse, this time at the girl specifically. The children make the best instruments in his twisted orchestra, though Bellatrix would say differently. She prefers the adults.

They make quite the team.


	3. guilt

I.

Death never scared me.

Or let me rephrase. Death never scared me, until I caused it.

His name was Severus Snape. He might've been a Death Eater. He certainly was kind of an arsehole. None of that, however, led him to deserve getting torn to pieces by a werewolf at the age of only sixteen.

(I was sixteen, too. I was also the werewolf.)

"You weren't yourself, Remus," my mother consoles me later, after all's been "resolved". "It was the wolf, sweetie. Not you. Not you. He shouldn't have even been there, he was tempting fate. You had nothing to do with it."

Nothing?

She could've been quoting James, or Peter, or Lily Evans, or McGonagall, or Dumbledore. They'd all said the same things, soft words of comfort, exonerating words.

Words, however, cannot heal a broken soul.

II.

"Hey, Remus!"

I turned away.

"What was it that happened last year?"  
My feet couldn't move fast enough. I ran.

Sirius yelled, "Hey!" again, but I pretended not to hear.

III.

I can almost hear them say it- _murderer._


	4. life and death and unstoppable words

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I don't think so. I've half-died once or twice now, I think I know what I'm talking about. I saw nothing, in the few moments before Bellatrix threw that killing curse. I only saw green, lots of it.

Is there something wrong with me? That I didn't see anything? I wonder if Fred saw anything when that wall exploded on him. I wonder why I didn't see Harry and Mum and Dad and everyone before Tom nearly killed me in first year.

When I was young and nervous, I babbled. I'm babbling now, wondering and worrying. I'm babbling because I feel like a little girl again.

Death makes me small and tiny. I can't believe I almost died, even though I've almost died before. I can't believe my brother Fred is dead.

 **A bit incoherent and rushed. Meh.**


	5. cracks in the bond

"Tuney?" Two girls lay in the dark, Petunia facing her sister. Lily's voice was plaintive, like a child's.

"Lily?" They had always used this little system of call-and-response.

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do, you silly thing? What on earth could ever make a sister stop loving another sister?" Sadly, Petunia wondered what could've made her little sister ask that question.

"Good. 'Cause you haven't been spending time with me lately," Lily clarified.

"Well, you're always with that Snape boy. He's bad news, I tell you." Petunia's voice dropped an octave when describing Snape.

"I don't think he's bad news," Lily said defensively. Petunia didn't respond.


	6. what is love (love is pain)

_What is love?_

Her head hurts just thinking about it. The memories envelop her like a riptide, washing her away, and she cries.

When she leaves the bathroom, the mascara she'd painstakingly applied earlier that evening runs down her face and onto her dress, leaving little echoes of her tears. She doesn't care. Looking good doesn't matter any more. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing matters with her alone and he gone.

The party sounds like sacrilege. Why the _fuck_ were they celebrating when there was a body in a grave somewhere in England? What was there to celebrate in a tournament gone horribly wrong?

She used to be a good girl. His good girl, he'd tell her in those quiet, secret moments they'd stolen from the world. Had he been alive and by her side, she wouldn't have had quite so many firewhiskeys.

"Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer or what?" The annoying wizard was back. "You even remember the question?"

If she was going to be honest, she would tell him love is pain, but she simply wasn't in the mood for honesty.

"No," she tells him firmly, hiding carefully the quiver in her voice. "No, I'm not going to answer."

He walks away, blending back into the crowd. Her stomach hurts and she wants to throw up. The sickness isn't just the firewhiskey in her body. It's the memories that she holds, memories like sweet poison.

Saying she misses him would be an understatement. For a moment, she wants to die like he did in that graveyard.

 _What is love?_

The annoying wizard's annoying voice floats through her brain, through the slight haze of alcohol, and she thinks again, _love is pain._ She thinks of him and his beautiful, beautiful face, and that time she'd "practiced Quidditch" with him and they'd ended up snogging. She thinks of him and their dances at the Yule Ball. She thinks of him and the flowers he gave her before the third task, now wilting in a vase because she just can't bear to throw them away.

 _What is love, if love is pain?_


	7. pure expectations (I of II)

"Sing," they tell me, "your voice was stolen from an angel."

"Dance," they command, "your body is that of a swan."

"Do magic," they whisper, voices tinged with hope, "it's your best gift."

"Do magic, because you are the only one truly worthy of it."

"Sing, dance, do magic, shine like a supernova," they encourage, "your blood is pure and you can do anything."

"They" is everyone.

And so, I drown in their words, until lightning scars strike the water and I am electrocuted. At least that death is faster.

I was perfect, perfect, perfect, until the definition of the word changed, because new editions of the silly Muggle "dictionaries" come out every so often. Even then, those new editions are generally not printed in "pure" blood.

 **Pretty ambiguous, and could really be any pureblooded character.**


	8. pure expectations (II of II)

Once upon a time, I might've been Minister some day.

Once upon a time, my father's name was a gift I didn't realize was poisoned.

Once upon a time, the only thing I cared for was myself.

Once upon a time, I held my head high and thought I was king of the universe because my father could hold out money and make miracles.

How the mighty have fallen.

The mansion is empty, and I am left alone like I'm the Black death. My solitary voice echoes on the walls when I talk to myself, because I'm the only person I can talk to. When I leave, which is rare, people look at me over their shoulders, eyeing me like I'm a hawk and they're mice.

Yet, I am a better person without expectations of greatness imprisoning me. I was the mighty, the mighty have fallen, and I am glad.


	9. the bond broken

Dear Lily,

I don't want you at the wedding.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia

Once, when we were younger, you told me, "what could make a sister stop loving another sister?"

Now, I know.

Don't expect to hear from me again if you don't want me at the wedding. I don't want to go anyway. Why would I want to see you tie yourself to a whale, just for spite?

-Lily

Dear Lily,

No need to insult my husband.

I always knew you were petty.

I might say _your_ boyfriend has his head up his arse.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia,

This is just a waste of parchment, and yet I'm wasting it. Why? Because last letter I lied. I do want to go to your wedding. And I'm sorry for making you swear. You don't swear. Tuney.

Love, Lily

Dear Lily,

Spare the poor animal that died for you to write on its skin and don't beg.

You freaks will just make a spectacle like you always do. Remember the circus? I sure do. I could never live it down. Sammy made my life _hell_ from then on, all because of you and that Snape boy. I always knew he was bad news.

And don't you dare call me Tuney.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia ( since you obviously don't want to remember our childhood),

I should've listened to you on him. I concede that point. But is it really necessary to bring up something from five years ago? Really? Or to call me a freak?

-Lily

Dear Lily,

It was.

I'm saving paper from now on. There's no reason for me to write. In Mummy's honor, you may come. But no way are you a bridesmaid.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia,

Fine. I'll come. Of course, I assumed that if I was allowed to attend your wedding, I would also be a bridesmaid.

-Lily

Dear Lily,

As I said before, don't beg. I make one concession. Accept it, or nothing. And tell your boyfriend to behave, or Vernon will beat him up.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia,

I can't believe you.

"Or Vernon will beat him up?"

Are you fucking (yes, I am worked up to cursing) kidding me?

-Lily

Dear Lily,

So you can call Vernon a whale, but I can't say he'll beat James up?

You freaks have such a double standard, and such filthy mouths.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia,

James would not be the one doing the beating up.

And "double standard"? Insults are not the same thing as threats.

-Lily

Dear Lily,

This is your last letter from me. The date has been moved to Tuesday. Be there, but it may well be the last you see of me. Besides Christmas cards. I'm not rude.

-Petunia

Dear Petunia,

I will be there.

I regret nothing.

-Lily


	10. first signs of trouble

When they were small girls with their hearts on their sleeves and big, honest smiles, all was well and nothing could ever go wrong. Lily and Tuney had never heard of magic, never heard of wands and witches and wizards and Hogwarts, and nothing ever could've separated them. Cokeworth was their Garden of Eden, and it even seemed to be an Eden without a tree.

Everything changed, though, when Father lost his job and the two happy little girls moved closer to Spinner's End. They were too young to know why their parents were so upset all of a sudden, although Tuney, the older, had some dim idea of what was going on. Lily only registered that the new house was smaller, and closer to that grimy, dirty, smelly river; the one Mummy warned them never to play near.

Tuney enforced this command with the dedication worthy of a samurai, but Lily was entranced by the danger of the river and the way it seemed to glitter in the sunshine. One midsummer day, when Lily was five and Tuney seven, the younger and more headstrong of the two found the temptation too great, and told her sister, "I know a new place to play. Follow me!"

Tuney, a trusting girl, followed meekly until they came down to Spinner's End, the ugly street with the tiny houses Mummy and Father turned their noses up at. Tuney realized where they were going and yelled, "No! I'm telling Mummy!"

"Wait! It'll be fine! And anyway, it's not fair if you tell Mummy!" Lily cried desperately after her, as Tuney had run down the street like a bat out of hell. Lily followed, red hair whipping in her exertion. She was too focused on the retreating form of her sister to see the greasy-haired boy just around her age looking after her. He didn't quite realize what was happening, but he couldn't take his eyes off her, and the bright green eyes he'd briefly glimpsed.

And so they found the tree of knowledge, or so it seemed then.


	11. shattered expectations (I of II)

I'm stepping on broken glass, and it feels like heaven.

When we were younger, our hearts nearly burst with hope when we got our letters, because everything was shiny and wonderful and new. We skipped off to Hogwarts with smiles on our faces and smiled and smiled through the whispers of "Mudblood".

I have grown older, and I have learned.

We little children mad ourselves castles out of glass that have shattered, and yet we hold on to the shards because hope is better than no hope.


	12. the first wizarding war

knock knock

(who's there?)

the dark lord voldemort and all of his minions

(the dark lord voldemort and all of his minions who?)

hide your fears in fantasy.

britain is a battlefield,

school hallways stained in blood,

green skull-and-snake-shaped scars

hanging over half the houses.

you're living a nightmare,

something out of grandpop's war stories,

and this nightmare came straight out of a dream.

if magic really is real,

why isn't it magical enough to make the bloodshed stop?

rhetorical questions never do get answered

to anyone's satisfaction.

you are supposed to be a phoenix,

rising from the ashes,

but it's the ashes you're creating.

collateral, it's called.

why can't you just be kids,

university age,

fooling around like we should?

turn the radio on,

hear the latest star croon

about an attack,

and dance along because

the song just sounds so good.

hide your fears in fantasy.

 **Not really a drabble, could apply to anyone.**


	13. shattered expectations (II of II)

"Welcome to Hogwarts." The blond kid's voice is full of absolute contempt. He sneers, looking at me like I'm the mud tracked onto the floor by some careless dog. "I sure do hope you _absolutely_ love it, Mudblood."

I'm not so naive as to think that particular combination of words is harmless.

if I was brave, I would say, _"Who made you the welcoming committee, prat?"_ Then, if I was brave, I assume I would be a Gryffindor.

Instead, I say, "Thank you for your concern," the picture of politeness as Mum would like it, and turn away. I can't walk fast enough. There's a funny feeling in my stomach, the type I used to get when the other kids teased me at school. Hogwarts, it seems, is not the paradise I envisioned.


End file.
